


Fiend’s Christmas

by HMSquared



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Apologies, Christmas Eve, Episode: s19e08 Funeral for a Fiend, Episode: s23e09 Holidays of Future Passed, Gen, Medical Experimentation, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Reunion, Sleep, Time Skips, change of heart, episode inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23920684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSquared/pseuds/HMSquared
Summary: Sideshow Bob takes part in a sleep program, only to wake up and find things aren’t quite what he remembered.
Relationships: Sideshow Bob & Bart Simpson
Kudos: 8





	Fiend’s Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> “Funeral for a Fiend” and “Holidays of Future Passed” are my favorite episodes and Sideshow Bob is my favorite character. Thus, this was born.
> 
> This takes place right after Funeral for a Fiend, and Bob wakes up a year after Holidays of Future Passed. I tried to keep him in character without detracting from the story itself.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a normal Saturday when the offer came. Sideshow Bob was perched on his bed reading a copy of “Rip Van Winkle.”

He heard footsteps. Looking up, Bob was greeted by Jonathan Frink, Springfield’s resident mad scientist. There was a small grin on his face.

“Sideshow Bob!”

“Jonathan Frink.” Setting down the book, Bob swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How’d you like to get out of prison?”

“Beg your pardon?” Frink stepped closer to the bars, grinning wider now. Bob watched him, curious and confused.

“I have a program I’m running, and I need a test subject.” He swallowed, unsure.

“Am I going to be poked with needles?”

“No.”

“Will I turn green?”

“No.”

“...I’m listening.”

The procedure was very simple, at least in Frink’s words. He had developed a way to freeze people in suspended animation. If it worked, he said, then Bob would get the time he slept knocked off his sentence.

He was only going to sleep for a week. There were nutrition panels in the pod, but if something went wrong...well, it was agreed by all that they needed to be careful.

Stretching his feet one last time, Bob lay down in the pod. The lab was a cold, drab gray box; not what he wanted to fall asleep in. But if he wanted to help, he didn’t have a choice in scenary.

“Are you ready, Bob?” Frink asked from behind the control terminal. Bob nodded, looking up at the ceiling.

“If you kill me, Frink, my ghost will stab your idiotic butt.”

“Good to know, my good sir.”

“And _don’t_ call me sir.” Knowing those could be his last words, Bob closed his eyes as the pod whirred shut. Sleep filled his brain and he drifted off.

There was a quiet beeping noise. His eyes opened to darkness and otherwise silence. Something had happened.

There was a release lever on the inside of the pod. Silently thanking Frink for the precaution, Bob reached up and pulled it. The pod opened with the same soft whir, and he sat up.

The lab was nearly pitch black. There was a red light a few feet away from him, softly blinking. Getting to his feet, Bob followed the beeping and realized it was coming from the light. Or whatever it was attached to, at least.

It was a heart rate monitor, the kind found in hospitals. Reaching through the darkness, he found a cord and tugged it. The machine shut off with a louder beep, startling him. After another minute of rooting around, Bob found the light switch.

The paint was peeling, a thin layer of dust covering everything. Looking around, it became increasingly obvious that no one had been around in years. Which begged the question: how long had he been asleep?

“Calendar,” Bob muttered under his breath. “Find a calendar, you idiot.” He stumbled around, searching for any clues about his fate. There were papers on the control console, notes from Frink.

_After a week of hypersleep, subject Ter--Sideshow Bob--has remained stable. I have considered waking him up, but I don’t know if his body will adjust to the effect. If so, we may not be able to put him back under._

_For the time being, I’d like to keep him under. If the government shuts us down, then I will wake him up._

_If something happens to me, please keep him safe._

“Well, that’s nice,” Bob whispered. But he still had questions. Had the project been shut down? How long had he been out? What had happened to Frink? Pulling on his jacket, he stumbled upstairs.

The lock on the front door had remained untouched. That meant everyone had left at one point and never came back. Tentatively twisting it open, Bob braced himself for the outside world.

It was snowing. Pulling his jacket closer, Bob looked around in stunned shock. Things weren’t drastically different, but they had changed. The buildings looked more updated, cleaner. He couldn’t smell the power plant or see any smog.

A blonde teenager was walking down the street with earbuds in. Wincing, Bob raced over to her.

“Excuse me! Miss?” She stopped and pulled out one earbud. “What’s today’s date?”

“What?”

“The date. Please.” Bob plastered semi-genuine bambi eyes onto his face. The teenager sighed in mild annoyance.

“December 24, 2042.” Eyes widening, Bob thanked her and she walked away. He’d been asleep for 30 years.

Physically, he felt fine. A little overwhelmed by it all, but fine. Stopping in front of a store, Bob glanced at his reflection. He looked the same as when he’d fallen asleep. At least he had that.

There was one other thing he did have. Shivering in the cold, Bob went to find a phone.

He found a new phone booth a few blocks away. Stepping inside, Bob realized he didn’t have a number to call. Picking up the receiver anyway, he dialed information. Maybe they could help him.

“Information.”

“Hi, yes I’m…” Bob trailed off, not sure how to phrase his request. “I’ve lost contact with someone and need their new number.”

“What’s the name?” He swallowed.

“Bart Simpson.”

“One moment, please.” There was silence, then the operator returned with the number. Bob memorized it, thanked him, then hung up. Waiting a few seconds, he started to punch in the number and shut his eyes. There were no other options.

The line rang, Bob curling the cord around his finger. He felt very nervous, though not for any creepy reasons.

“Hello?” He breathed a sigh of relief. Bart still sounded the same.

“Bart, it’s me.” Bob expected an outburst or an instant hangup. What he hadn’t expected was long, thoughtful silence.

“You’re actually still alive. Wow.” Bart sounded stunned.

“Listen, a lot has happened and I’ve got nowhere else to go. What do you say we bury the hatchet, chum?”

“Promise you won’t kill me?”

“What reason do I have to right now?” More silence.

“Do you know where the elementary school is?”

Bob actually chuckled at the sign reading “The Lofts at Springfield Elementary.” Adjusting his jacket for the third time that hour, he pulled open the front door.

“Bob?” It wasn’t Bart, but rather Skinner. Bob jumped, startled by the old man.

“Principal Skinner.” He gave a small nod. “How are things?”

“Mostly normal. I take it you’re here for Bart?”

“Not to kill him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Skinner nodded.

“He’s been worried about you. Won’t admit anything, but I’ve seen it. Good luck.” Giving Bob a pat on the shoulder, he left the building. Stunned, the former prisoner started looking around for Bart.

There was a mailbox next to one of the doors. Stopping, Bob steeled himself for what was about to happen. He had missed so much. Stepping forward, he knocked.

The door opened, and there was Bart. He was taller and had floofier hair. There was a general older quality about him.

“Bob.” He found himself smiling at their impromptu reunion.

“Hello, Bart.” Bob motioned to the door. “May I come in?” Bart stepped aside to let him in.

There was a dirty couch in the corner, and the pencil sharpener was being used as a coffee grinder. A holographic screen was positioned on the coffee table. It was a weird juxtaposition of old and new.

“Seems like you’ve got a small estate here.” Bob turned around and suddenly found himself being hugged. Bart held him tight, shaking.

“Where the hell have you been, man?” He was close to tears. Bob silently returned the hug, not sure where to even begin.

“What happened to Frink?” Bart broke the hug and motioned to the sofa. They both sat down, taking everything in.

“There was an explosion at the power plant in 8th grade. Lot of people died: Burns, Smithers… Frink was there helping with something. He got caught in the blast.”

“What about your father?” Bob stared at the ground, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Maggie was sick and Mom had a church errand. He was home taking care of her.”

“That’s a relief.” Bob chuckled, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d say that about him.”

“Hey, this whole thing is weird.” Bart looked at the wall, deciding on his next words. “Frink told me about the program. I was the only one who knew. When he died, there were instructions for the machine. I went down there, put in a random number, then locked everything up and left.”

“What’d the town do?”

“Everyone assumed you were dead. After a while, I did too.” Bart suddenly looked up, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, man.”

“About what?”

“Being such an ass.”

“No. I deserved it.” Bob clasped his hands together. He felt like he was coming down from an incredible high. “Is theatre still a thing?”

“Barely, but yeah.”

“Maybe it’s time for a culture shock.” Bob looked around. “Do you mind if I crash here?”

“Stay as long as you’d like.” And Bob never left, remaining on Bart’s couch. How ironic considering their pasts. And he never took anything for granted again.

**Author's Note:**

> Given the context, “Where the hell have you been, man?” is probably my favorite paragraph in this. I love Sideshow Bob redemption arcs, especially ones that involve Bart.


End file.
